


Wild/Wired

by ProseApothecary, yerbamansa



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: AU - Battlestar Galactica, AU - Black Mirror, AU - Humans, AU - Space, AU - Superpowers, AU - Twilight Zone, AU - Witchcraft, AU - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Prompt Generator, Ridiculous, Shorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerbamansa/pseuds/yerbamansa
Summary: Anthology-style short AU stories inspired by/stolen from sci-fi/fantasy, but with David and Patrick. Silly? Yes. Cute? We hope so.See notes for easy story index.





	1. Freakout at 20,000 Feet

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know whether to apologize for this or not give a fuck. The idea amused us in chat, and now it exists. To be updated whenever the mood strikes.
> 
> Story index:  
> Chapter 1: [Classic Twilight Zone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/38977826) (yerbamansa)  
> Chapter 2: [Battlestar Galactica](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/38995376) (yerbamansa)  
> Chapter 3: [Black Mirror, "The Entire History of You"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/39060755) (ProseApothecary)  
> Chapter 4: [Superpowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/39362467) (yerbamansa)  
> Chapter 5: [HUMANS/synths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/39377272) (ProseApothecary)  
> Chapter 6: [Scrabble in Space!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/41061386) (ProseApothecary)  
> Chapter 7: [Ouija at witch school](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/41209112) (ProseApothecary)  
> Chapter 8: [Time travel Pictionary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/42750188) (ProseApothecary)  
> Chapter 9: [Black Mirror, "Hang the DJ"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/45747208) (ProseApothecary)  
> Chapter 10: [Zombie Apocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626803/chapters/46648612) (ProseApothecary)  
> 

>   
>  “ _Portrait of a frightened man: Mr. David Rose, thirty-four, tastemaker, boyfriend, and entrepreneur on sick leave. Mr. Rose has just been discharged from a sanitarium where he spent the last six weeks recovering from a nervous breakdown, the onset of which took place on an evening not dissimilar to this one, on an airliner very much like the one in which Mr. Rose is about to be flown home—the difference being that, on that evening half a year ago, Mr. Rose’s flight was terminated by the onslaught of his mental breakdown. Tonight, he's traveling all the way to his appointed destination, which, contrary to Mr. Rose’s plan, happens to be in the darkest corner of the Twilight Zone.”_

The thing you have to know is that David was _really happy_ to be going home with Patrick.

Patrick, who’d been so supportive throughout David’s crisis. Visited him. Come to therapy. Held his hand and lent a sympathetic ear. All David wanted to do was get back to their life, back to the store, back to his _family_ , even. Back to normal. He hoped it was possible.

Getting on the plane was triggering for sure. But his psychologist, firmly but kindly, insisted it was necessary to face this fear. He could do it. Patrick would have to take the window seat.

It wasn’t a particularly long flight, but they were both exhausted. David fell asleep with his head nestled on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick snored lightly. After nodding off for a while, David woke up. The hum of the airplane engines filled his head, and the light coming into the darkened cabin through the open window shade was almost blinding.

“Ugh,” he spat and reached across his partner to pull it shut.

That’s when he saw it.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he mouthed to himself. “It’s back. _It’s back._ Patrick, it’s back!” His eyes were wide as he shook his snoozing boyfriend awake.

“What?” Patrick looked at David.

David was frantically gesturing to the wide open window. “The gremlin!”

“David. That was an episode of _The Twilight Zone_.”

“No, see, but look!” David’s face was contorted with anxiety, so Patrick glanced out the window. It was gone. Patrick turned back to David with a look of concern.

“It was _just there_.”

“Right. Right,” Patrick nodded gently, thinking back to what David’s psychologist had said about not rejecting the delusions too vociferously. He waited a moment more before asking: “When’s the last time you took your medication?”

David opened his mouth as if he were about to say something harsh, but stopped himself. _Patrick cares about me. This is probably my mind playing tricks on me. It’s going to be OK._ But he was gazing absentmindedly out the window and _it was there again_. He started shaking.

“I’m sorry.” Patrick wrapped an arm around David and attempted to comfort him, thinking he was upset by the question. David breathed harder.

“You’re still seeing it, aren’t you,” Patrick said quietly. David nodded slowly and carefully, not letting his gaze leave the window.

“OK. OK. It’s OK,” Patrick said in a soothing voice, reaching for his carry-on bag with the stash of ativan and a water bottle. “What’s, ah, what’s the gremlin up to?”

David, unblinking, exhaled a hot breath. “I think it’s messing with the engines,” he whispered.

“Uh huh.”

“It’s not real, is it,” David responded, still at a whisper, still staring out the window.

“Well, I hope not,” Patrick responded. “But I can understand how scary it would be to see that.”

That got David to shift his focus back to Patrick’s face, his deep brown eyes radiating love and concern. He nodded sharply. “Yep. Yeah. It’s fucking scary.”

“But it’s going to be OK. You’re not William Shatner.”

David couldn’t help but tear up at that. “I hope not.” He let Patrick just hold him for a minute. He always felt safer in Patrick’s arms.

“Your doctor gave me some pills that might help you sleep. Do you want one?” David nodded, and Patrick thought—hoped—he saw some of the tension leave his face when he accepted the pill and took a swig of water.

“Could you just hold me until I fall asleep?”

“Sure. And I’m just gonna close this...” Patrick slid the window shade closed. He held David’s hand on their shared armrest, interlocking fingers, and pulled him into an embrace with his other arm. David snuggled up, almost child-like, and closed his eyes tight.

“What happened in the episode, do you remember?” David asked after several minutes of silence.

Patrick looked thoughtful. “Um… do you want the truth, or do you want me to make you feel better?”

“Tell me the truth. Always tell me the truth.”

“OK.” Patrick stroked David’s arm reassuringly. “Well, he saw the gremlin, and no one else did. His wife thought he was going crazy; the flight attendants thought he was going crazy. They tried to drug him.” He took a deep breath. “Good thing we didn’t tell the flight attendants.”

“Thank you for that,” David said.

“Anyway. He didn’t take the pill.” Patrick looked David in the eyes. “You swallowed the pill, right?” David looked offended. “Sorry, sorry, just checking. So he keeps seeing the gremlin, no one believes him, so he knows he needs to do something. So he steals the gun off an air marshal or something and straps himself in by the emergency exit, blasts the door open, and shoots the gremlin.”

“I’d never do that.”

“I know, I know.” Patrick smiled. “Anyway, after the plane landed, they hauled him off in a straitjacket. I don’t think they do that anymore.”

“I hope not. That’s really not a good look for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think you could pull it off.”

That made David smile. “Sure.”

The captain’s announcement that they were starting their descent interrupted them momentarily. Finally.

David had a long road ahead, but he knew he could trust that Patrick would be there for him. He wanted to sob just thinking about it, but he squeezed Patrick’s hand and tried to fall asleep until landing.

It was a good thing neither of them could see the state of the engines after they deplaned.

> “ _The flight of Mr. David Rose has ended now, a flight not only from point A to point B, but also from the fear of recurring mental breakdown. Mr. Rose has that fear no longer... though, for the moment, he is, as he has said, alone in this assurance. Happily, his conviction will not remain isolated too much longer, for happily, tangible manifestation is very often left as evidence of trespass, even from so intangible a quarter as the Twilight Zone.”_


	2. ...And they have a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is a cylon! Straight-up Battlestar Galactica plot rip-off, only no pregnancy storyline 'cause I'm not going there.

Nothing like an apocalyptic nuclear strike and fleeing your home in a rickety old battleship to bring people together. The early days of the Second Cylon War had certainly brought Patrick and Rachel together. The war, and their Raptor assignment.

Not that it mattered much how much you liked a person. There weren’t that many left.

Spending hours surveying random planets, asteroids, and space phenomena, looking for resources they needed for survival did, however, leave plenty of time to talk. Rachel loved to talk about life back on Caprica, and Patrick enjoyed listening to her stories. It didn’t take long for Patrick to make a move, and they went from coworkers to lovers to partners in a matter of weeks. There was no time to waste.

One day Patrick started having weird dreams. Or blackouts, he wasn’t sure. He’d wake up, groggy, in the weapons locker, staring at an open case with missing explosives. Once he found himself in the locker room with the word “CYLON” scrawled on the mirror in lipstick. Whose lipstick? Who knows. That was almost as concerning as the “CYLON” bit.

It was making him anxious. Well, beyond the “oh god when are we going to get blown to bits by a fleet of toasters” anxiety.

Until one day he became conscious immediately after shooting the commander.

* * *

David was surprised to see Patrick in nuked-to-hell Caprica City. Surprised, but not unhappy—he’d always had a bit of a crush. What shocked him, at first anyway, was how readily Patrick returned his affections. He’d always been such a good soldier; David never saw Patrick falling for someone like him. Their swift intimacy was somehow so necessary for survival David didn’t look for red flags.

Together, they cut a swath through the ruined planet, searching for survivors and evading Centurions at every turn. When they weren’t trying to remain silent and hidden, David regaled Patrick with a seemingly endless supply of anecdotes about his once cosmopolitan life on Caprica. David never suspected Patrick’s secret, and Patrick was careful to avoid any position where Patrick might see his spine glowing.

The real secret, however, was Patrick’s growing feelings for David. He’d just been a mark, a means to an end, but falling in love? He’s a machine. It’s not supposed to be possible. Not only that, but he’s questioning his programming and the Cylons’ role in the war altogether.

It might not be enough.

They were sneaking through the bombed-out ruins of Delphi when another Patrick slipped past.

_Fuck_ , he thought. _I hope David didn’t see that._

But he looked up, and David was staring at him with a curious expression. “You have a twin I don’t know about?”

He didn’t have time to respond, because a sudden explosion brought a chunk of the building down right next to them, and Stevie Budd appeared looking like a bad-ass action hero and charging toward them with a golden arrow. “David!”

David frowned. “Stevie? What are you _doing_ here? And what’s with the arr--”

“David, there’s no time! Patrick is a cylon and we need to get the hell out of here.”

“WHAT?!” David wasn’t moving.

“DAVID. RUN.”

All three ran toward what passed for an exit from the crumbling building. As soon as they got out, Stevie trained her sidearm on Patrick, who stared at David helplessly. David crouched awkwardly and panted, unable to catch his breath. “So, wait. What are you saying, Stevie.”

“Cylons look like us now.”

“Patrick?” David looked at him, heartbroken.

“If I kill this one, he’ll just download into a new body. Right?”

Patrick’s face filled with sadness. The Cylon God really nailed the puppy dog eyes on that one. His voice broke as he spoke: “Yes. It’s true.”

David was speechless. Stevie’s focus didn’t waver.

“David, I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but we’re at war. If I shoot him, we have a chance to get away.”

“Can I explain?”

David exhaled sharply. “What could you possibly explain?”

“It’s true. I am a cylon. And if you shoot me, I’ll just come back in a new body, with all the memories from this one. And you should know that those memories include loving you, David.”

David’s face twisted into an anxious frown. He rubbed his eyes and tried to ward off tears.

“David, don’t listen to him.”

“Stevie, _please_. David, knowing you has changed me. I can’t work with them anymore. I’ve been lying to them and I’ve been keeping you away from them this whole time.”

“David, let me shoot his lying toaster face.”

“ _No._ I need to think.” He could feel Patrick’s eyes on him. It was all he could do to not cry.

“If it’ll help, you can take me prisoner. I can still help you avoid the Cylons and get back to the fleet. _Please_ , David. I love you.”

Stevie finally shifted her eyes away from Patrick and looked at David with a scoff. “Are you buying this?”

The tears finally spilled out. David was trembling. “Yeah. I am.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Stevie found something in her pack to bind Patrick’s wrists together and approached him. “But I reserve the right to blow your head off the second I smell betrayal.”

“Fair enough.”

With Stevie’s back finally turned, David eyed Patrick up and down. “So,” he said flirtatiously. “You’re a machine.”

“You’d know.”

“Hey, I can hear you, you know,” Stevie yelled. “When we get back to Galactica, how are you going to explain this?”

David slipped an arm around Patrick’s. There would be time to figure something out.


	3. The Entire History of Mariah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even David and Patrick rewatch David and Patrick scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Black Mirror season 1, episode 3.

“You said it.” Patrick insists.

“You know I would never disrespect Mariah like that.”

“Ok,” says Patrick, grabbing his control from the bedside table, “let’s see”.

A close-up of David appears before them. “You’re my favourite person.”

“I’m slurring,” says David. “I could be saying anything.”

“What? What else could that be?”

David thinks for a second. “Yours is my favourite pasta. You make that ziti with the bolognaise sauce-” 

“Not buying it. Mariah, you’re officially second fiddle.”

David frowns.

“You know, I think I feel like rewatching,” says Patrick. “Or maybe we could scroll back a few hours, to when you were on your 4th shot, staring at the black mirrorball. I had to convince you not to sit down in the middle of the dancefloor.”

“ _Ok_ ,” says David, “how about I replay the time Jocelyn told you her newborn son’s name and you laughed in her face?”

“I’d _really_ rather not.”

David gropes under the covers for his control, and scrolls through the days.

“There we go,” says David.

A projection of him in front of a mirror appears.

“Wait,” says David, staring at the control, “how do I skip through the day?”

“You know I offered to teach you this ages ago.”

“Ok, well can you teach me _now_?”

“I don’t know,” says Patrick as projection David checks himself out in the mirror, “I’m finding this pretty interesting.”

David fiddles with buttons.

The projection skips forward ten seconds. “On fleek,” mutters David as he smooths his eyebrows with a finger.

“Oh my God,” says Patrick, “you know we, as a society, agreed to stop using ‘on fleek’ _several_ decades ago.”

“I heard you call something a _rigmarole_ the other day. And we all agreed to stop using that in 1885 so, you know, people in glass houses…”

“…How long does this go on for?” Patrick asks, gesturing at the projection.

“Well my outfit is fucking incredible, so like…potentially 10 more minutes. You know, if you’re getting bored, you could always teach me how to fast forward.”

“Uh-uh. I’m invested now.”

Eventually David ends up at the store, with a big box of puppy sweaters.

“Wait.” says David. “This is the day _before_ we met baby Roland.”

“Aw look,” says Patrick, “there’s me, saying I’ll never be able to compete with Mariah. How blatantly wrong I was.”

“Patrick. You really need to teach me how to fast-forward. Or pause. Or anything.”

“Why? As far as I remember, that day turned out pretty great.”

They spend the next 5 minutes watching David sing along to the soundtrack to _Footloose_ as he drives to the clinic.

“Is that what you wanted to skip?” asks Patrick, “Because honestly, I’ve seen you do worse.”

David ignores the question, dreading what's to come. He groans and falls back on the mattress as he and Ted attempt a hug-shake.

“Like that,” says Patrick.

David shuts his eyes tight as he hears his own tear-soaked, blatantly infatuated voice give a self-targeted pep talk.

The voices stop.

David opens his eyes to see the video paused.

Patrick looks at him, smiling fondly. Always fond.

“ _Definitely_ your favourite person.”

David throws a pillow at him.


	4. Don't Call Him SuperPat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First-person AU in which Patrick has superpowers (flying/superstrength), and how he reveals them to David.

Did you ever think, “Things would be so much easier if I could just _fly_ ”? Yeah. I’m here to tell you: it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

First of all, you can’t just fly whenever you want. People will _see_. And when people see you FLYING, they will A. marvel and B. ask for things.

Second of all, OK, so I have super strength, too, but that doesn’t mean it’s exactly _easy_ to just carry someone with me when I fly. Traveling solo is easier.

And third of all, when you leave people behind, they expect you to visit. A lot. Because you _can_.

I don’t know where the powers came from. As far as I know, I didn’t crash-land in an alien escape pod; I wasn’t hit with a cosmic ray or a dark matter explosion. My parents are of average abilities (though I’ve sometimes wondered if my mom is psychic, but that’s a thought for another time). It just started happening around puberty. I had flying dreams, and when I woke up, it was clear that I’d _actually been flying_. My parents had to replace the bedroom window so many times.

Anyway. I got good at pretending to be normal. As much as flying and lifting heavy things felt as natural to me as walking, I had to constantly remind myself they weren’t things other people could do, and that doing them would mark me as different.

That extended to other areas of my life, I found.

Once, after prom, I got a little drunk with my girlfriend—ugh, _girlfriend—_ and flew her to the top of a hill to make out. She said she felt like Lois Lane and promised to keep my secret. I felt obligated to keep her happy for too long, just for that.

I’m not sure what it was that prompted me to blow it all up. Maybe I was just tired of keeping secrets, of keeping some great part of myself hidden and tamped down. I broke things off with Rachel and found somewhere else to be. I don’t know what it was about Schitt’s Creek that struck me as welcoming, but it was one of the first times I ever listened to my gut, and my gut was right.

Maybe that was another superpower.

Being somewhere so rural, surrounded by strangers, made me feel free to practice flying. It was beautiful countryside, to be honest. And damn, flying felt good. So right. I started to forget why I’d kept my powers hidden. I got sloppy.

Or, well, not _sloppy_. I got smitten.

My years of pretended to be a Regular Guy came with the discipline to accomplish Serious Regular Guy Things, like business degrees, and how to dress in a casual, approachable manner that would invite no questions. I used these acquired skills to get a day job—hard to fly on an empty stomach; that shit burns _hella_ calories—and that’s where I met David. Fucking David. _Ugh_.

I wanted to grab him and fly into the woods and… do things I hadn’t really let myself imagine before. And I thought he might be into it, too. But I’d pretended to be normal too long to take any dramatic action.

By the time we got together, I thought it might be enough just to admit I was gay, that somehow that would be adequate for the nagging sense of shame. After everything with Rachel, I was desperate not to drop another bomb on him, even if it is one he might actually appreciate. Dude does like the finer things in life; what’s finer than an _extremely_ personal means of flight? But no.

My parents, of course, expected me to visit. They knew they didn’t even have to send travel money. They promised an all-I-could-eat buffet of breakfast carbs in exchange, which helped, since I had to travel by night. It took me a long time, too long, to tell them about David. For some reason, I felt like it was OK that my family knew one secret and David the other. It wasn’t. They agreed that it wasn’t. “If he makes you happy, son, he deserves to know _all_ of you,” they’d said, and they were right. But I wasn’t ready.

I might never have come out at all if it hadn’t been for David falling off the damn roof.

Honestly, I don’t know what the hell he was thinking. Maybe I’d needled him too many times about not stepping up and doing little things around the store, and he wanted to prove me wrong. He wanted to do a little touch-up on the paint trim around the facade’s roofline, and rather than using a ladder or hiring professionals _like any sane human would_ , he leaned over the edge of the roof with a paintbrush and managed to topple over the edge while trying to reach a high spot. I could hear it happen. (Not because I have super hearing, mind, it’s just an old building and you can hear every goddamn step and creak.)

It was total instinct to rush out the front door and swoop myself up just in the nick of time. He was still mid-“Aagghhhh!” when I caught him. He was so surprised he lost his grip on the paintbrush, which _may_ have smacked me in the face on the way down. Kinda ruined the moment.

When I landed and set him down, he gave me one hell of a look: heavy lip snarl, eyebrows raised practically to his hairline, every possible forehead and brow wrinkle engaged. Like a full-body expression of “WHAT?!” which is exactly what he said once he got his bearings.

I scanned the street for witnesses. It seemed to be a pretty quiet afternoon, but you never know. “Come on, let’s go inside,” I said, pushing him towards the door and turning the sign around to “Closed” as soon as we got inside.

David stood just inside the door, too confused to move. I went into the back to get a handi-wipe to get the paint off my face before it dried and got all crusty on my eyebrow.

“OK, so, yes. I can fly.”

David just stared at me, looking almost hurt. _Another lie_.

“I deserve that.” I looked away.

“What? Deserve what?” he sputtered.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you before…” I started. “I guess when you spend your whole life trying to be normal, you just—”

“Do you think I’m _mad_ at you?”

That stopped me dead. I looked him in the eyes. “Yes. You aren’t?”

David’s whole demeanor had changed. I wondered what it must feel like, finding out your boyfriend has superpowers. After the initial shock, it seemed, excitement was the natural reaction. “Oh, my _god_. No. First of all, you _literally just saved my life_.”

Oh. That. I demurred, “I don’t know, I probably just saved you from a full body cast situation. It’s only two stories up.”

“Well, regardless. My boyfriend is a fucking _superhero_.”

“Uhhh, well, unclear on the ‘hero’ part…”

Finally he moved from the doorway, coming toward me with the kind of seductive saunter only he can pull off. I might have super-strength, but when David puts his arms around me, I’m a puddle. He kissed me deeply and I let myself fade into the moment. This was _his_ superpower.

“You’re my hero,” he said in a low purr, pressing his whole body into mine. I fantasized about flying him somewhere very secluded.

“As long as you don’t call yourself my Lois Lane,” I whispered back.

It might’ve broken the spell, because he pulled back a little. “ _Ew_.”

“Sorry,” I said, looking down. “You’re only, like, the 4th person who knows.”

“I don’t mind this being our little secret, if that’s what you want.”

I looked up again. I don’t know what I did to deserve him. With well-practiced tenderness I grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him until we were both breathless.

“I’d like that, for now.” He gave me a soft peck on the lips and smiled. “But maybe someday…” His lips met mine again. I ran out of words.

For the first time maybe ever I wasn’t haunted by shame, and the sense of relief shot up my spine. It felt so good, I can’t even describe it.

“So, where are you going to take me first?” David asked as soon as there was a break.

_Ah, of course_. At least this time I wanted it. “I’m open to suggestions.”

I let myself get lost in his eyes for a bit while he pondered. It’s not every day I get to be all of myself. I was allowed to enjoy it. Right?


	5. Synthesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David buys a Synth. There's a good chance they didn't wire him properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's either a Humans AU that differs wildly from canon or a robot AU that's kinda like Humans.

It wasn’t that David was lazy. Curating was a very intense job, and it was normal to want a little help around the house. And unlike a maid or butler, a Synth wouldn’t judge who he brought home, or how many episodes of The View needed to be cleared from his DVR.

Patrick wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He chatted and joked, and the smile on his face definitely made it _seem_ like his DVR was being judged.

 

One Summer night, about a month after Patrick had arrived, David had gotten up for a glass of water to find him staring out the window at the stars above.

“Sounded like rain,” he’d said. “I was checking if I needed to get the washing in.”

David had nodded, going back to his bedroom, watching from behind the door as Patrick had stayed there, staring up at the sky.

There was probably a rational reason for it. Synths were meant to accrue knowledge, make themselves useful. But that kept dragging David back to the same question: _why lie?_

 

He comes home the next day to find Patrick polishing plates.

“You don’t need to clean.”

Patrick promptly starts on dinner instead.

“Or cook.”

Patrick hesitantly sits on the couch.

David grabs a hard-boiled egg and joins him.

“…Is that what you’re eating for dinner?” Patrick asks, with palpable disappointment.

“Yep,” says David, digging in.

“Ok,” says Patrick, pushing himself off the sofa, “I’m making spaghetti.”

Disobeying orders definitely wasn’t something Synths were supposed to do.

“Why?”

“Because I’m programmed not to harm humanity, and I’m pretty sure letting you die of malnutrition falls under that.”

David turns to watch him stirring pasta on the stove. “…How far does that go? Because you let me watch _You’ve Got Mail_ 8 times last Saturday, and that doesn’t seem like the _healthiest_ use of my time.”

“Ok,” says Patrick, “so I should update my programming to _not_ let you binge-watch Meg Ryan?”

“That’s _obviously_ not what I’m saying. What I’m _saying_ is, you don’t act according to programming.”

David watches Patrick’s stirring still and shoulders tense.

“You make decisions,” he adds “as arbitrarily as the rest of us.”

Patrick turns to him.

Synths could simulate an array of human emotions. Spread joy through a happy, easy affection; share an empathetic sadness, instill hope, calm, lust, excitement. Only the dangerous, destructive moods were off-limits – fear and anger.

Or, they were supposed to be.

“It’s ok,” says David, trying to think up ways to make Patrick smile, “Some of my best friends have free will.”

The corners of Patrick’s mouth tilt up, just a little.

“…Do they?” he asks. “I think they might be part of some Kardashian-controlled hive mind.”

“Noted.”

They spend the evening catching up on what David’s been missing; Patrick’s likes and dislikes, hopes and wishes. Excepting the 5 minutes where Patrick talked about his favourite baseball teams, David thinks he’s probably the most interesting person he’s ever met. If David is being entirely honest with himself, he’s also sort of relieved that he hasn’t been crushing on a glorified Roomba all this time.

Around 2 am, when David decides it might be time for bed, Patrick, after a moment’s hesitation, pulls him in and hugs him tightly.

And David feels very human.


	6. Space Cadets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little space, a lot of Scrabble.

Patrick leaves the cockpit as soon as his break starts.

“Hi,” says a voice as soon as he opens the door. The man struggles to read his nametag. “Peter?”

“Patrick. Sorry, messy writing.”

“Hi, Patrick. Um, my wine is tepid. And I need to have at least three more glasses before I’m ok with that fact.”

“So I’m not actually the flight attendant…”

“Oh, I know. Your nametag says pilot in…excessively large letters. But I figured you might know where the wine is.”

“Strangely enough, finding alcohol is not a skill they emphasised in pilot training. But if I see Stevie, I’ll let her know you want a refill.”

“Here’s the thing: I told Stevie I wanted a refill about half an hour ago. And she has not gotten back to me.”

“Ah,” says Patrick, realisation dawning, “you’re David?”

“…Yes. Why, what did she say?”

Patrick thinks back to Stevie’s expletive-filled rant. “I think she’s just impressed that you’re a man of exacting taste.”

“…Is this about me saying that only a sociopath would include _Bridget Jones’ Diary_ in the in-flight entertainment _without_ giving us access to the sequels? Because I stand by that. Now I have to wait months for her to fulfil her emotional arc.”

“…Mm. And you need 4 glasses of wine to…cope with that fact?”

 “That and the fact that we’re hurtling through infinite nothingness in a metal box. So if I could just be unconscious for the next few months, that’d be great.”

“The thing is, that’s generally called a coma. And it’s usually not the healthiest option.”

“Not a flight attendant, but he is a doctor,” mutters David.

Much to David’s chagrin, Patrick smiles.

“It’s not like there’s anything to do here _except_ drink.” David adds.

“Ok, well if it’s a distraction you need, me and Stevie are in the middle of a _very_ intense online Scrabble game,” Patrick says, not expecting the offer to be taken seriously.

“…I’m listening.”

 

Weeks later, David and Patrick are still meeting up for Scrabble.

“I should really stop helping you now that I have my own account.”

Patrick breaks out the puppy eyes. “But you’re so good at it.” 

“…Fine. But I’m going to need something in return. Like constant updates on the safety of this ship.”

“Well in that case, the bad news is that our AI has started quoting HAL. Good news is, I’m pretty sure it’s Stevie’s doing.”

“It’s like she only stoops to pranking people when she can make them fear for their own mortality.”

“Definitely,” says Patrick, glancing out the window as they pass a distant nebula.

 David stares down at the Scrabble board on Patrick’s phone.

Patrick nudges David with his shoulder. “Can you at least admit that it’s beautiful?”

“Of course. Lots of beautiful things are terrifying.”

Patrick looks at him searchingly. “Can’t argue with that.”

David, feeling a little lightheaded, wonders if the artificial gravity is on the fritz.

He points at the screen. “There’s ‘bombilate’”.

“…Where do you get these from?”

“Thank my mother. But don’t actually, she’ll be insufferably pleased with herself.”

“…Is she an English teacher or something?”

David laughs. “Uh no, she’s an actress. And one that’s recommended for more mature audiences than school students.”

“Ah,” says Patrick, “suddenly everything makes sense.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“I meant the vocab,” says Patrick innocently, “Must read a lot of scripts.”

“Uh-huh,” says David, trying to look more indignant than he really feels. It’s not like he hasn’t been called a drama queen before. And given that it’s usually screamed from an adjoining room, this is an improvement.

“She act in anything I would’ve seen?”

“No,” David lies. After a one-night stand knocked on his mother’s door in the middle of the night, asking for her autograph, David had decided his family history should be rationed.

Still, he thinks, this is Patrick.

“Maybe,” he amends, “Vivien Blake? Sunrise Bay?”

“Sun-Sunrise Bay? Yeah, I may have heard of that. Obscure, arthouse series?”

“Mm. Very understated.”

“Almost too understated. Sometimes there just wasn’t enough slapping to know how the characters really felt about each other.”

“Oh, I’ll let her know. She _loves_ critical feedback.”

Patrick grins.

“It’s part of why we’re here. Apparently interplanetary TV shows are the most important part of the space race. _That’s_ why we have to uproot our lives.”

“And you missed them too much to stay behind?”

“No. I was pretty sure Alexis was going to steal my scarves to take on the trip, and I missed _them_ too much to stay behind.”

Patrick smiles. “You’ll put down new roots. You and your scarves.”

 

Years later, they’re still meeting up for Scrabble.

“Congruity,” says David, smugly putting down the last tile.

Stevie overturns her Scrabble rack.                              

“Do you mind? This is a new table.”

Patrick leans over and presses a proud kiss to David’s cheek. “And the winning streak continues.”

“In Scrabble _and_ life,” says David, as he’s pulled into another kiss.


	7. David's Glow-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open communication is out, interrogating ghosts about your friends is in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: 'Your characters are playing Ouija in their dorm room at a school for the dark arts' from yerbamansa's Games Night/Sci-Fi prompt generator (http://thundering-range.glitch.me/#). I may have also been a little inspired by MBMBAM (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIL7H_P_daA).

Patrick and David sit on the bed, Ouija board between them.

“Put your hands on the guitar pick thingy,” says David, impatient.

“You sound like Alexis.”

“Ugh, sorry we can’t all get As in Spiritual Communication. What’s it called then?”

“The planchette?”

“Whatever.”

Patrick places his finger on the planchette.

“Who’s there?” asks David.

Patrick groans as the planchette spells out ‘the Casanova of Eastwick High’. “Did you buy a discount Ouija board? We get the worst ghosts.”

“Well that’s just rude,” he adds as the planchette spells out a string of expletives.

“Not a bargain basement one. It’s a Genuine Hasbro Ouija. Paid a full fifteen dollars to chat to a ghost that haunts the third floor bathrooms, apparently.”

“U guys suck,” spells out the planchette.

“Who’s going to beat Patrick in the next magical proficiency exam?” asks David.

The planchette spells out ‘David. Also, nice sweater’. David holds a hand to his heart. “Thank you.”

“That’s weird,” says Patrick dryly, “it’s almost as if the planchette’s being dragged against its will.”

David thinks for a moment. “Why has Patrick been acting weird and grumpy ever since the Midsummer Ball?”

Patrick takes his hand off the planchette. “He’s not telepathic. He’s just dead.”

“Ok,” says David, taking his hand off the planchette. “Why have _you_ been acting weird and grumpy since the Midsummer Ball?”

“I haven’t,” says Patrick, twisting his hands in the starry bedspread, colliding galaxies in his palms.

“Did I do something?”

“No, David, you didn’t do anything.”

“…Is this like in movies, where you say I didn’t do anything and you really mean I didn’t do _enough_ , and you secretly hate me-”

“No, God, David, you’re perfect-” he says, and promptly shuts up.

David scoffs. “Ok, well I think we all know I’m not _perfect._ ”

Patrick sighs a sigh rife with the frustrations of spending the last 3 years with someone so utterly oblivious, and pulls David into a kiss, one palm still tethered to the sky below.

Just as suddenly, Patrick pulls back again. He gapes. “You’re glowing.”

“Oh. Thank you,” says a flustered David. “It’s a new serum.”

“No, you’re _glowing_.”

David looks down at an arm surrounded by moonlight. “Huh. So that’s new.” A look of realisation dawns. “Oh my God, I am totally going to beat you in magical proficiency now.”

“No way,” says Patrick. “I mean, I’m _basically_ responsible for this-”

David threads his fingers through Patrick’s hair, interrupting him with a kiss.

Patrick acquiesces, tugging David back onto the bedspread with him, back into the beyond.


	8. Sketchy Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anecdotal Pictionary is not Patrick's favourite game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: 'Your characters are playing Pictionary inside a TARDIS just outside Pompeii' from yerbamansa's Games Night/Sci-Fi prompt generator (http://thundering-range.glitch.me/#).

Patrick sighs as David adds the final penstrokes to a mop of hair.

“…Seducing Oscar Wilde?”

“Correct. 1 point to Patrick, nil to Stevie.”

David picks up a green marker and starts outlining a head.

“Ooh!” says Stevie, “Frankenstein’s monster!”

“Nope.”

Patrick sighs deeper. “Seducing Mary Shelley?”

“Correct! Babe, you’re so good at this.”

“I’m definitely sensing a pattern, though,” says Stevie.

David starts drawing a plane.

“Seducing Amelia Earhart!” says Stevie immediately.

“ _Actually_ ,” says David, “we just shared a cheese plate.”

Stevie narrows her eyes. “This feels like entrapment.”

“Right,” says Patrick, “who votes we stop playing this game?”

He and Stevie raise their hands.

David makes a face. “This is what I’m best at.”

Patrick looks at the sketches strewn across the room. “Kinda seems like there’s something else you’re better at.”

“Ok,” says David, “so I’m picking up a little jealousy.”

"No," says Stevie, “ _Patrick?_ _Jealous?_ ”

“But this was all in the past-”

Stevie raises an eyebrow. “Well obviously you didn’t hook up with Oscar Wilde in the _present_.”

“ _My_ past _._ And the past. Not my present past. You know what I mean.”

“Here’s a question,” says Stevie. “If, in the past, before you were dating Patrick, you travelled to the future and hooked up with someone there, is that cheating? Because technically you would’ve been with Patrick at the time, even if you didn’t _realise_ it-”

“Not helping, Stevie,” says David.

“Wasn’t trying to help.”

 “Fine,” says David, “what if I restrict the sketches to the love of my life?”

“Oh, who’s that?” asks Patrick innocently. “JFK?”                                     

“I know you’re joking, but I’m kinda flattered that you think I made it with a president.”

Patrick just looks at him.

“Ok,” says David, regretfully packing up the sketchpad, “next stop is Pompeii, so would it help if you threw some of these sketches into a volcano?”

“Oh it _absolutely_ would.”


	9. Hang the DJ (He Won't Play Mariah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life, gamified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: 'Your characters are playing The Game of Life on a date during a suprisingly long relationship in the society depicted in the Black Mirror episode Hang the DJ', from yerbamansa's Games Night/Sci-Fi prompt generator (http://thundering-range.glitch.me/#).
> 
> (I try to make AUs understandable without context but this one might be a lil confusing if you haven't seen the episode.)

David glares at his Coach. “Are you going to show me what he looks like, or do I have to speed-date the whole restaurant?” An image flashes up. He spots the man sitting at a corner booth and surveys him skeptically. He doesn’t exactly seem like David’s type.

Still. Trust the system.

He walks over and sits down. “Hi, I’m David. I’m your match.”

The man looks even more surprised than David feels.

“…That can’t be right.”

David feels the annoyance bubble up.

“Mid-range denim wasn’t what I was expecting either. So why don’t you pretend to be pleased, and I’ll pretend that department store shirts are my thing, and we can just get through the next…however many hours we have to spend together.”

The man looks surprised, though there’s the edge of a smile playing on his face.

“David, all I meant…it’s just never been a guy before.”

“Oh.” David closes his eyes for a second and hopes that the Earth will take this opportunity to swallow him up.

“Still. Trust the system, right?”

David opens his eyes.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, holding out his hand. David, feeling like it’s an olive branch, shakes it.

“Right. David. Said that already.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“You know, for Target jeans, those…those aren’t bad.”

Patrick grins. “Oh, you like them?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Patrick grins wider. “Should we check how much time we’ve got?”

“Huh. 12 hours.” David sees a twinge of disappointment on Patrick’s face. 12 hours was the shortest date he’d gotten, but apparently not short enough.

The waitress brings out a steak for Patrick and a tower of lasagne for David

“…I didn’t know they sold pasta by the acre.”

“Mm. Must be a…a programming glitch,” says David, muffling his Coach as it protests.

 

They go to their assigned house, only to find a bed, an ensuite, and little else.

Patrick looks slightly panicked.

David, feeling sorry for him, suddenly takes an interest in the shelf in the corner of the room. “No furniture, but they did give us a copy of The Game of Life that appears to be an antique. They didn’t even leave a guestbook for me to complain in.”

Patrick glances around the sparse room. “…Feel like playing?”

David shrugs. It’s not the weirdest game he’s played on a bed.

 

Five minutes later, David is staring at the cards and making a face. “I don’t want any of these careers.”

“…You know you don’t actually have to live the life you create for yourself?”

“Why does the car have 6 spaces? Is it so you can have a quintuple couple?”

“…Four of those spaces are for children.”

“Ew! I don’t want four children.”

“Again, it’s not a blood pact you’re making to Hasbro-”

“You say that, but _these things_ -“ he points to his Coach- “are supposed to be building a profile of our psyche. What if it decides to ship me off to a suburban octomom?”

“If only they’d given us an even less controversial game. Like Candyland.”

“You try having a brand tied to Mexican diet pills. See how _uncontroversial_ Candyland is.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“…It’s a long story.”

“We have a long night.”

 

The Game of Life gets abandoned in favour of that story and many more. Until, sometime around three am, David remembers he’s supposed to be getting 12 hours of beauty sleep each night.

“I think I’m going to head to bed. I would offer to sleep on the couch, but…”

“There’s no couch. It’s fine, really.”

He looks around. “No closet. I guess we just…wear this.”

Patrick feigns surprise. “Those aren’t your pyjamas?”

David rolls his eyes. Warm from his sweater, he lays atop the duvet.

Patrick turns out the lights and stumbles onto the bed.

“I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

Patrick considers the fact that after the next six hours are over, he might never see David again.

He reaches out his hand until his pinkie ghosts against David’s.

Patrick can hear David’s inhale, followed by him taking his hand, properly, interlacing their fingers.

He wonders how long he can stay awake.

 

The clock blares _Happy Together_ and Patrick sits up, rubbing his eyes, wondering if they’re being taunted.

David throws a pillow at it. “Can you shut it up?”

“I don’t think it shuts up. Part of the incentive not to stick around.”

“Right,” says David. “I guess one of us is usually out the door before this part.”

 

They stand outside the house. Patrick, on a whim, moves to hug David. David stands stock-still for a second before hugging him back.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe.”

“I know _I’ve_ found my perfect match. So you can too! Trust the system. And what better place to envisage a future with someone than a wedding!”

David rolls his eyes at the voice booming from the stage and starts on another spring roll.

“David,” says Sebastien, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you know I love how hungry your spirit is. Doesn’t always have to translate to the corporeal form.”

David stares straight at Sebastien while stuffing another spring roll into his mouth.

Sebastien sighs and walks off.

Patrick comes into David’s line of sight and he immediately starts choking.

“Whoa. Are you actually…? Patrick gives him a couple of thumps on the back and the spring roll dislodges.

“Um. Sorry for ruining your shoes.”

“Well, they _were_ from a department store.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

Patrick smiles. “So…that guy you were talking to...”

“Sebastien. Two more months,” says David. “What about you?”

“Rachel. One year.”

“Wow. And I thought two months was a while.”

“Uh-huh. Luckily we actually have furniture in our room. No Game of Life though.”

“Oh no. How will you survive without instruction?”

“Mm. No idea.”

A voice comes from across the park. “David! Come here, I need someone to pose mournfully by this willow tree.”

David grimaces. ”Nice to be needed.”

“Nicer when you need them back.”

David smiles at him as he walks off, and Patrick’s left with that image for the rest of the day.

 

 

“…Hi.” David slips into the booth.

“Hi. Um. Is this supposed to happen?”

“You really have a knack for these introductions.”

“I mean, I’m glad it’s happening. I’ve just never been paired with the same person twice.”

“Me neither”

The waitress delivers a grilled cheese to Patrick and a pavlova to David.

Patrick glances at the pavlova. “…Is _that_ supposed to be happen?”

“What, you’ve never had a dessert dinner before?”

“I ate an entire packet of cookie dough for dinner when I was five. That may have put me off the idea.”

“Too big, too early. Classic rookie mistake.”

“Should we check our times?” asks Patrick, a little apprehensive.

“Can we not? Having the timer ticking down, it makes everything feel kind of...meaningless.”

“Ok. No checking.”

 

David and Patrick look around their bungalow in awe.

“There’s furniture this time.”

“And books.”

David heads towards the shelves. “And…Candyland. I _told_ you our Coaches were paying attention.”

“Seems like more of a…long-term house than the last one?” Patrick says with a smile as he walks towards David.

“Mm, I think so” says David, who can’t help but smile back. He shakes the Candyland box. “So, are we going to continue the tradition or-”

He’s cut off by the press of Patrick’s lips to his.

Patrick pulls back with a smile and grabs the box as David tries to get his act together.

“I played this a _lot_ as a kid. Prepare for your gumdrop buttons to be destroyed.”

 

 

Four months later, neither of them have been shipped off.

 

“You don’t think it’s weird? That it took the system two whole months to figure out that Sebastien wasn’t right for me? And a year to figure out that Rachel wasn’t right for you?”

“Maybe that’s not what it’s figuring out. Maybe it’s-”

“Wearing us down?”

“Seeing how you react to separation. Maybe the easiest way to tell who you’re supposed to be with is by looking at who you miss.”

“Or maybe it’s just a game, without rhyme or reason. Maybe we’re being forced through random events for someone else’s enjoyment. Like a simulation. When was the last time you feel like you had enough freedom to actually make a choice?”

“You choose to spend half an hour getting dressed every morning. Who would enjoy watching that?”

David pinches Patrick’s side. “You do.”

“Ohh. So whoever’s running this simulation is in love with you, then?”

David nuzzles into Patrick’s side. “Ok, so you’re not convinced.”

“I’m just saying, maybe we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t feel the need to analyse what makes me happy.”

“No one does. That’s why we have injustice, and inequality, and Adam Sandler movies.”

“Ok, well when this relationship leads to one of those crimes against humanity, I’ll rethink my policy. Deal?”

 David curls into Patrick’s side. “Deal.”

 

David locks himself in the bathroom, hours after Patrick has fallen asleep, staring at his Coach.

“I need to know. How long have we got?”

_10 years_ flashes up on the screen and David feels his throat tighten.

“Recalibrating” the device announces as it whirrs and _5 years_ comes up.

“I don’t need to know. _I take it back_ -”

“Recalibrating.”

“ _Stop.”_

David feels the years being wrenched from him as _12 hours_ flashes up onscreen.

David slides down the wall, holding his legs to his chest. He holds his head down to stop himself from making a sound.

_Stupid. Stupid to look, stupid to question._

Their impending, arbitrary breakup should prove what he’d wanted to know, that no choices, no relationships were real here.

But everything feels more crushingly real than ever. The jagged pain in his throat, the shuddering of his heart. The blue light of the Coach, ticking down the hours, making his eyes sting. And hours later, when he’s collected himself enough to collapse into bed, the rough warmth of Patrick’s hands on his chest, Patrick’s smile, half-asleep, Patrick’s breath, soft across his collarbone.

 

 

“Ok, something’s wrong.’

“Nothing’s wrong.”

David walks a little ahead of Patrick.

Patrick pulls on David’s sleeve to twist him around towards him. David acquiesces, and Patrick looks more suspicious than ever.

“…Since when are you ok with me pulling on your clothes?”

David shrugs. “It’s just a sweater.”

“…You realise how utterly bone-chilling it is to hear that from _you_ , right? What happened?”

David looks down at his Coach. Not much point keeping it a secret anymore.

“I looked. I looked at our time. We only have minutes, Patrick.”

Patrick shakes his head, stricken. “That can’t be right.”

David holds it up. “It was years. But when I checked, it started changing, and-”

“You _broke_ it? Because you lied?”

”You could stay. I mean, clearly it’s not set in stone. I don’t know, maybe that means we have a choice.”

“You made the choice for me.”

 

 

David’s new apartment is ugly and cold, but who knows how much of that is down to Patrick not being there.

People come through the door for a night, or a week, or a month, and none of them make it any brighter or warmer.

His Coach dings one day when he’s curled up on the bed, waiting for something, anything to happen.

“Your perfect match has been found.”

David freezes. “Is it someone I know already?”

“No.”

His heart sinks.

“You have one opportunity for closure with a previous match. Would you like to-”

“Patrick.”

“You have a restaurant booking for 8 o’clock.”

 

“David,” Patrick says, standing as soon as he comes in. He holds up his Coach. “Should we check our-”

“Mine’s at the bottom of the ocean,” David says brightly. “So we may not have a lot of time. Listen, do you remember how you got here? Because I think we’re just being moved around like…”

“Pawns.”

“I was going to say little car tokens full of blue and pink figurines, but sure, yours is cleaner.”

“…My Coach told me that my perfect match was ready, and I had a chance to meet up with someone from my past. And I just…arrived.”

“My Coach told me the same thing. It’s like someone is designing coincidences, and Patrick, I know you don’t have much reason to trust me, but I think we can get out of here. I think we’re _meant_ to get out of here-”

Patrick glances towards the door of the restaurant, where security guards have started accumulating.

“You ready to take a shot at real life?”

David takes his hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

David glances at the figure across the bar then back down at his phone. A 99.8% match. With a guy who dressed like a country banker. Clearly their algorithms were shit. Though, admittedly, he was pretty cute.

Maybe just a night…


	10. Brains of the Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: 'Your characters are playing never have I ever in an abandoned high school during the zombie apocalypse', from yerbamansa's Games Night/Sci-Fi prompt generator (http://thundering-range.glitch.me/#).

Stevie looks around the circle. Seeing stilettos, business-casual and thousand-dollar jumpers does not inspire her with confidence. Unfortunately, flannel was the clear leader of the anti-zombie revolution.

“We have enough food to last for a week but we don’t know how long it will take to find more, and we know the others are North of here. We’ve fortified this place pretty heavily. I say we stay the night and head off in the morning when it’ll be safer.”

“Agreed.” Patrick looks concernedly at David, whose eyes are shut tight. “You ok?”

“I once acted in a commercial where hordes of shoppers ambushed me in order to snap up deals on homewares. I’m pretending that’s what’s happening. If you love me, you won’t pop my delusion bubble.”

“Got it. We’re in a heavily fortified Walmart and the cake stands just went on sale.”

Alexis flips her hair back. “I learnt Krav Maga from some very nice ladies in a Turkish prison. We’re gonna be just fine.”

“Great,” says Stevie, “so we just…wait…We should probably try to get some sleep.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. ”Ok, well _I’m_ not sleeping,” David says.

“Me neither,” Alexis says with a forced jollity. “Why don’t we just make this like a slumber party and we can stay up, and braid each other’s hair, and tell scary stories?”

Everyone looks at her in disbelief.

“Ok, not scary stories, but maybe like drinking games. We _are_ in a high school, after all. And Stevie made us raid that liquor store, so…”

“For rubbing alcohol. In case we get _wounded_?”

“Yeah, and I raided my ex-boyfriend’s bathroom cabinet for sleeping pills. Whatever you need to tell yourself. Besides it’s like 6 bottles. Pretty sure anyone who’s gonna need _that_ much antiseptic is dead already.” She grabs a bottle of vodka from the pack.

“Ok, ummm. Never have I ever…caused a decade-long feud between these Romanian brothers over some miscommunications on our dates.”

David sighs. “It sounds like you definitely have done that.”

“Ugh, it’s hard to think of things you haven’t done. You try if you’re so good at it, Da _vid_.”

“I’ve never spilt a Cosmopolitan on my sibling’s jacket collection.”

Alexis takes a swig. “That feels targeted.”

Stevie sighs. “Do you really want to be wasted when zombies are in the mix?”

“That’s a good point,” says David. “I absolutely do. Ok, I’m playing for real now.”

“That was the opposite of my point.”

“Never have I ever tricked someone into watching a movie. Patrick and Stevie, drink.”

“Technically _The Godfather_ is a romance,” Patrick protests.

“Ok,” says Stevie, “uh, I’m going to stay sober, so that someone is actually on guard.”

Alexis snorts. “Um, it’s just funny because you’re always the…sober one.”

Patrick leans over to Stevie. “If we want to survive the next few weeks, the gym might be a good place to start looking for weapons.”

Stevie takes it back. Business-casual’s anti-zombie strategy was on point.

 

Patrick, predictably, grabs some baseballs and a bat.

Alexis gets very excited when she finds a bow and arrows. “Stevie. Stevie. Stevie.”

Stevie turns to look at her.

She pulls back the string and poses. “So many flashbacks to my elven warrior photoshoot for Vogue.”

“Do you know how to use that?”

“ _Basically_. I accidentally shot an arrow into a tree during the shoot.”

“Colour me reassured.”

Stevie grabs a hockey stick and puck. Hello, college memories.

That doesn’t leave much for David. He rifles in the boxes at the back of the storeroom until he finds a technicolour ribbon wand.

Stevie looks at him and staggers back. “This is more colours than I’ve seen you wear, ever. I feel like I’ve been trapped underground, only to be suddenly overwhelmed by the sun.”

David waves the ribbon in Stevie’s face.

“Seriously, do you wanna swallow your hatred of team sports and get something a little less impractical?”

“What’s impractical?” He points at the stick. “Stabby bit.” And at the ribbon. “Strangly bit.”

Patrick looks concerned. “Please don’t try to garrotte any zombies.” He hands David a baseball. “Let’s stick to long-range attacks.”

David hands back the baseball. “I have an idea,” he says, heading back to the store room to search. “Once a year, PE teachers experience a rare moment of empathy, and take pity on the non-sport kids.” He pulls out a bag. “That is Lawn Bowls Day. They’re heavier than baseballs. And they come with their own travel case. Not a super fashionable one, but…”

“Good idea,” says Patrick.

“You got the ribbon stick and the lawn bowls. You know that you’re both a five-year old and a fifty-year old, right?” Stevie says.

David shrugs. “Split the difference.”

“Not how that works.”

An idea occurs to David. “Shouldn’t we check the canteen?”

 

Alexis starts packing Power Bars into her bag. “These are really good if you need a huge burst of energy, like when you’ve had a miscommunication with la polícia and the Running of the Bulls happens to be going on at the same time.”

“Or if you have an overenthusiastic baseball coach.”

“Mm,” says David. “Or if you’ve endured a breakup and you don’t want to leave your bed for six days.”

“Or if you don’t want to cook food, ever, so you just keep a stock of twenty in a box under your bed.”

Alexis sighs. “Ok, so I feel like those got progressively sadder. God, I’m going to be responsible for keeping morale up, aren’t I?”

David pulls a face. “Does that count as a _responsibility_? I mean, it’s not exactly keeping zombies from eating our brains.”

“God. Before you throw me to the zombies, _David_ , maybe keep in mind that I can pick locks as well.”

Stevie turns to her.

“The easiest way to verify high school gossip is by looking in people’s lockers. Little did I know how many makeshift prisons that skill would help me escape from in later life.”

 

She finesses her bobby pin into a lock and pulls the door open. “Ooh. Cheez-Its.”

“Ooh.” David reaches over and grabs them. “What?” he asks, when Alexis glares at him. “It’s not like you eat carbs.”

“Now that I might be eaten any day? Considering it.”

“Are you sure? I heard that zombies prefer the taste of carby people.”

“You did not,” she says, snatching back the packet.

They rifle through lockers, picking up food and water bottles.

 

Stevie hangs back a little as they head back to the hallway they started in.

David waits up for her. “Is everything ok? Relatively speaking?”

“I don’t know. When we started this, I was worried that I was gonna have to protect you all from inevitably becoming zombie fodder. But I think it’s me. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be the undead appetizer.”

“Oh, no, that’s definitely me. I’m sure zombies love baby-soft skin.”

“You’re not going to be first. Patrick would definitely find some grossly chivalrous way to sacrifice himself for you.”

David thinks. “It’s not going to be Patrick. In horror movies, it’s always the slutty one that dies first.”

“Let’s pray zombies don’t obey the laws of male filmmakers, or the rest of us are fucked.”

David pauses. “You know, badasses tend to survive pretty long as well.”

The corners of Stevie’s mouth curl up. “You think I’m a badass?”

“I mean, not right now, because you’re smiling like a schoolgirl, but like, in general, sure. How many barfights did you say you’d been in?”

Her smile spreads. “Enough.”

 

“Ok,” says Stevie, “So before we go out there, has anyone else been in a bar fight before?”

Alexis sticks her hand up. “Ooh, yes! Me!”

Stevie looks at her.

“Ok, well I wasn’t _in_ it so much as I stood on a table while these two former wrestlers fought over me…It was a hot day, so they were kinda sweaty, and at one point the bartender poured champagne on them to try to get them to calm down, but it just made them take off their wet clothes….”

“Alexis?” says David. “Did you go into a fugue state?”

“What? No, this was in Turkey.”

David puts his head in his hands. “Oh my _God_. We’re definitely going to die.”

Stevie tries to steer the conversation back to relevance. “Ok, well, I do think Alexis is probably the most athletically proficient, and has the most experience in attacking kidnappers. But I think I can teach you all a few fighting tricks-”

“Wait,” says Patrick, “Alexis is the most athletically proficient? I mean, one of us plays an actual sport.”

David jumps in “An _actual_ sport? The fact that I attend a pilates class, whose demographic is mainly senior citizens, does not mean I am unfit.”

“Their tagline is literally ‘Teach an old dog new tricks’”.

Smashing glass interrupts them.

“ _Jesus Christ,_ Stevie, was that necessary _?”_ David asks.

“That was lesson one. Broken glass can be risky, but it creates a distraction.” She holds up the jagged end of the bottle. “And gives you a weapon.”

“I’m glad you didn’t go into education. Your teaching style is _very_ aggressive.”

“Maybe it would help if you thought of me as your Kindergarten teacher who’s trying to protect you from the first-graders who want to eat your brains.”

“First-graders are so much worse than zombies.”

Stevie smiles. “Then we’re in with a chance.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It’s where I want to be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307665) by [yerbamansa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerbamansa/pseuds/yerbamansa)




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